


heartfelt

by Beans (provetheworst)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, they are weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Beans
Summary: “The Professor is not the emperor of Adrestia, and he does not get to decide if it’s time for your ‘fated duel,’” Hubert says, utterly contemptuous. Byleth blinks. He thought he had earned Hubert’s trust, but he supposes this stuntwouldmake the minister less trusting.“I wasn’t going to let myself die,” Byleth says, defensively. He's gotten adept at dodging death, whether by Jeritza's scythe or through anyone else's efforts. Keeping others from dying is near-trivial, at this point, and barely crosses his mind; it's reflex, or instinct. “And I was only going to kill the Death Knight, not Jeritza.”“Do you realize … No, no, don’t bother answering that,” Hubert says. “Are you two quite done now? Are you ready to come back to camp?”
Relationships: Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 207





	heartfelt

Byleth crouches down, wiping his blade clean against the once lily-white tunic of the person he just killed. They’re face down in the mud. He didn’t know them before, and now he never will.

For a moment he considers rewinding time to before the start of the battle, asking them their name, how their day is going. Most of the people he kills are strangers, but it strikes him, in this moment, that they’re people in their own right. Not that he ever forgets this, exactly, just - it’s easy to dehumanize them.

Easy for him to dehumanize himself, too, when it comes down to it. Especially since he’s not wholly sure he’s human anymore, or not entirely. Not quite sure he ever was, when push comes to shove.

He has a sword made out of a dead dragon’s spine and he can rewind time and for a while a so-called goddess spoke to him in his head. Now she’s part of him, instead, so maybe he’s a goddess, himself. How it all works isn’t quite clear.

Shame he’s going to have to kill Rhea soon. The odds of her sitting down for a friendly chat explaining what he is seem low, all told.

A shadow falls over him. He looks up. The Death Knight looks back down at him. His eyes blaze red. Byleth puts two fingers to his temple in a little salute.

“Hello, Death Knight,” Byleth says.

“What are you doing in the mud? Wallowing like an animal?”

Byleth looks down at the ground and at the corpse in front of him, and lets his shoulder rise and fall in a shrug. He gets to his feet and kicks a loop of intestine free from his foot, managing not to trip. “The battle’s over. I can do as I please.”

The Death Knight, as always, grins. He has no other options with that mask on. If his face beneath it expresses anything else, Byleth doesn’t want to know. In the dark metal teeth, forever bared, Byleth can almost see his own reflection. “A shame I cannot.”

“Do you want to fight?”

“Of course; always. But I am ... not allowed. You know this. Your time will come soon enough and I must be patient.”

“If I challenge you, though, then it’s fine,” Byleth tells him. “You won’t be at fault.”

“Even if I kill you?” the Death Knight asks, thoughtful. “How would I prove you had let me do it?”

“You won’t win,” Byleth says. “Off your horse. Come, now. Face me.”

“Such confidence,” the Death Knight says, dismounting and patting his horse on the flank with surprising tenderness. “I look forward to your death. What sounds will you make, I wonder? Will you scream or cry?”

“Probably not,” Byleth says, laughing. He puts the Sword of the Creator away in favor of a silver sword he keeps at his hip for old time’s sake; no use damaging Sothis’ remains for this, whatever the outcome. He’ll save that weapon for his enemies.

The Death Knight is no enemy, not least because he is also Jeritza, sometimes. 

Something like a sigh echoes from behind the mask. “We fight to the death, yes? You are not taunting me?”

“Of course not,” Byleth says, then flings himself forward. He misses, of course, as the Death Knight sidesteps; he only barely manages to avoid getting tripped. Laughing, he whirls back around, bringing his sword up just in time to block a sweeping blow from the scythe. “Of course I’m not taunting you; of course it’s to the death.”

“Wonderful.” His voice is nearly a purr as he circles Byleth, alert and hyper-aware.

Under his breath, Byleth hums a little waltz to time his steps. One, two, three; one, two, three. He licks his lips, and darts forward - blocked, of course. The Death Knight is a more than worthy opponent.

Sometimes Byleth wonders what it would be like, if his heart could race; if he could hear his pulse in his ears. He’s read about those sensations, heard his father’s mercenaries talk about the movement of their blood in all sorts of terms that feel wholly alien to him. Exhilaration, to him, is this: his breath comes faster. The hair on his arms rises. His scalp tingles. The first is the only one he’s heard anyone else talk about, really, or seen mentioned in books.

It’s the Death Knight’s turn to attack first, this time, swinging that great scythe of his. Byleth manages to duck beneath the swing, and he tries to grab hold of the haft but the Death Knight jerks it out of his grasp before his fingers can fully close on it. Byleth laughs, scuttling backwards and straightening up, eyes darting to keep track of every relevant movement.

“What are you two _doing_?” a voice interrupts, and Byleth nearly has his head taken off as the Death Knight takes the opening caused by that distraction.

Byleth hisses under his breath, lunging forward himself, hoping to close the distance to get himself out of scythe range and into close-quarters combat.

A precisely-placed spell knocks both of them off their feet, and Byleth scowls. “Hubert. I told him we could -“

“No,” Hubert says, coldly. “Lady Edelgard would be furious.”

Byleth considers this. “Yes.”

“Then you understand -“

The Death Knight moves to attack again, and Hubert nails him with dark spikes.

“The Professor said we could -“ the Death Knight says, pouting like a child even as the mask conceals his distress. His voice is rough with pain and still he finds time to complain about the interruption.

“The Professor is not the emperor of Adrestia, and he does not get to decide if it’s time for your ‘fated duel,’” Hubert says, utterly contemptuous. Byleth blinks. He thought he had earned Hubert’s trust, but he supposes this stunt _would_ make the minister less trusting.

“I wasn’t going to let myself die,” Byleth says, defensively. He's gotten adept at dodging death, whether by Jeritza's scythe or through anyone else's efforts. Keeping others from dying is near-trivial, at this point, and barely crosses his mind; it's reflex, or instinct. “And I was only going to kill the Death Knight, not Jeritza.”

“Do you realize … No, no, don’t bother answering that,” Hubert says. “Are you two quite done now? Are you ready to come back to camp?”

“Yes, mom.” Byleth rolls his eyes, but he does as he’s told.

He really wasn’t going to kill either of them; or - he was, but not for long. He’s done it before, without getting caught. It’s become something of a hobby. Challenge the Death Knight, kill him then turn back time - and other times, he’s nearly been killed himself, only managing to wrestle time backwards at the last second before his own life faded entirely. (He wonders what Sothis would think. He can imagine her yelling, and it makes him smile.)

He considers fiddling with time again, but Hubert’s scolding has soured his mood enough. He wouldn't get any joy out of killing or being killed after that.

-

At dinner, he brings Jeritza some saghert and cream. To celebrate the day’s victory the cooks have made the emperor’s favorite. It’s the sweetest thing they’ve had available to eat for a while, with the rationing they’ve had to do.

“Ah, thank you,” Jeritza says, nodding at Byleth. Byleth sits next to him, staring at Jeritza as he eats. “A shame about our duel.”

“Some day,” Byleth says, patting him on the shoulder.

“The Death Knight was looking forward to it. He is …” Jeritza pauses, then shakes his head, abandoning the thought. “Hm. However - I think neither of us would want to live in a world without you.”

“Is that so?”

“Something like that,” Jeritza agrees, staring off at nothing, his eyes hazy and dreamlike. "The challenge would be gone. So perhaps it's better that you live."

“How romantic,” Byleth says, smiling to himself. He considers explaining - that they’ve killed each other over and over, that they can do that and coexist - but doesn’t know where to begin. Another day, maybe. Another time.

Jeritza turns to stare at him. “Ah, is it?”

-

After the battle at the Taltean plains, before they push on to Fhirdiad, Byleth finds the Death Knight, and asks him to take off his helmet; he does, for once. (Byleth has asked before and it has never amounted to anything.)

He isn’t sure who it is looking back at him, but. He reaches up to touch his face, smearing trails of blood across pale skin.

“Hello,” Byleth says.

A silent stare answers.

“The war is almost over.”

“Yes.” Jeritza turns his face into Byleth’s touch like he’s searching for something there. “Edelgard says she has more work for me. When it’s done. That I won’t have to be locked away.”

“Was that a concern?”

Jeritza says, “It was an option.”

“I would break you out,” Byleth decides to himself. “I would have, if it came to that. The new world to come: it’s going to be fertilized by blood you and I spilled. And the rest of them. They can’t keep it from us, or you.”

“Hm.”

“Jeritza. Do you think I’m a goddess?”

Jeritza, for once in his life, looks surprised, then says, “Of course not.”

“Good, thank you,” Byleth says, nodding to himself. He’s been worried about that. The hair, the power. It could give the wrong impression. He’s just a man. He strokes Jeritza’s cheek, petting him like he might one of the monastery’s cats.

And again, they’re interrupted - “Both of you,” Hubert says, sounding tired, this time, which is better than angry, “Lady Edelgard is going to address the troops before we advance. It would do you well to be there. You especially, Professor.”

“Yes,” Byleth says, nodding. He straightens his armor, runs a hand through his hair - which earns a disgusted noise from Hubert, and Byleth remembers, belatedly, that his hands are bloodstained and he’s probably just ruined his hair. “I’m a symbol.”

“You’re a human being, and Lady Edelgard trusts you,” Hubert corrects him. “Your presence does reassure the troops, but I assure you, that alone is not why she wants you by her side. Now go, clean yourself up, and be ready.”

Byleth does not clean himself up.

-

After the war, his heart starts beating, and he asks Jeritza - “Does your heart get faster when you see me?”

Jeritza considers this. “Yes.”

Byleth nods to himself. “I see. Hearts do that.”

“Sometimes,” Jeritza agrees. “Not often, I think.”

“Mine never has, before.” He does not explain that it couldn’t. Still: no one else makes his heart do the things it’s doing now. He has heard enough made of the importance of the heart, talking to others, reading stories, to place some level of significance on this.

“Is it faster now?” Jeritza asks, dull voice somewhat energized by curiosity.

“It is,” Byleth tells him.


End file.
